An arrow and a heart
by cesttoiquivois
Summary: A collection of OQ oneshots, updated as the inspiration desires.
1. Rain

_A/N: Based on the prompt "Barefoot in the rain" and set during the Missing Year._

* * *

She likes the rain. Cleanser of the soul.

The world always seems saner when the sky weeps as if it had been turned off for a bit. Time stills. Life stops.

Peace.

The raindrops fall, one by one, and glide over her naked arms. Her eyes are shut, her tears invisible. Her pain dull.

Liberating.

She hums a quiet sound, a tender lullaby from a distant time.

She likes the rain. It reminds her of little feet jumping in puddles with bright red boots on, cuddles on the couch and innocent giggles echoing in the house.

Henry.

He's gone now. Her little prince. Her heart and soul. He's gone.

She slides on the ground, her blue nightgown not so anymore. The melodious murmur draws out fainter and quivering limbs gather against her chest.

The thunder rumbles from atop the mountains and nothing.

Emptiness.

Her arm untwists as her breathing weakens, and out of her palm, it falls.

Blood red.

…

Light. Too much light.

She squints and moans. The pain... It's back. Why? She felt good. For the first time in months, she was at peace and now, all there is, is sadness and images of a yellow bug and the remnants of her past sins melding into the purple smoke that would take her far away from the one true love of her life.

She deserves the pain and heartache. It is her price to pay for all she's done but she thought… For an instant, she thought it could all be over. A blissful void.

A tear escapes her half-opened lids and a hand falls on her arm, its thumb drawing circles on her tender skin.

"Regina?"

Snow.

She closes her eyes back shut. No.

…

She fell asleep in her attempt at avoiding Snow and the next time her eyes open, the light has dimmed. It's now coming from a small and blurry candle standing on her vanity.

Better.

She blinks. Her lashes are dried, sticking to her skin. No more tears left to shed. She brings a hand to her chest, laying her palm flat against it. It beats, still, dull.

Outside, it's still raining. Raindrops thrum on the castle's roof, soft and steady. Soothing.

She sits up with difficulty and draws her tongue out to wet her lips when she hears someone at the door. She raises a hand, conjuring a quick locking spell but she fails. Too weak.

She expected Snow White. Instead, she recognizes one of her stepdaughter's latest charity cases: Robin Hood. An outlaw sleeping in her gardens with his equally-felonious companions. She tried voicing against it, but without fear, her voice never mattered in these walls.

"The thief."

The moniker was supposed to remain an unspoken observation, but it was indeed her voice cracking painfully in the silence.

He smirks, unbothered by the poisonous snap of her tongue. He closes the door and walks around the bed to stand by her side.

"I brought you a glass of water."

She hesitates before taking the glass and drinking a sip. She closes her eyes. It burns.

"Why are you here?" She asks, putting the glass down.

"I'm on nurse duty," he tells her, pulling the vanity's chair and sitting next to her.

"So, you're my watchdog?"

He chuckles, and she bites her lip to fight the unexpected smile pulling the corner of her mouth.

There's a silence and his features grow serious. She raises a brow.

"I don't know why you did what you did, and I won't ask but if you want to talk to someone, I'm a good listener."

"What makes you think I want to talk to _you_?"

"Well, something tells me that talking to the Princess wouldn't be your ideal choice either."

This time, hiding the smile is more difficult.

"You're not wrong," she confirms. "But, I'm alright. I don't need to talk or cry on anyone's shoulder."

"Your Majesty, I found you cold as dead in the freezing rain, your heart in your hand. You're going to have to lie better to convince me that you are in any way _alright_."

She blinks before locking eyes with him.

"Why didn't you leave me?"

"I don't make a habit of ignoring somebody in need of assistance."

"But I'm the Evil Queen," she scorns, her eyes now dark and perverse. "Ask around; they'll tell you. I'm not human. I'm not a person… Not with all I have done. I'm a monster."

He surprises her by standing up and putting his hands on the mattress. His face is close, and he holds her gaze with defiance and something else… _Kindness_? She backs away, surprised but he doesn't budge.

"I don't make a habit of taking anyone else's opinion at face value either."

She stays quiet and brings a hand up to his chest, stroking the fabric of his shirt with her finger.

"Should I rip your heart out and crush it? Would that be proof enough?"

He holds her gaze, unmoving and she feels her eyes burning. Not so empty after all.

"I'm waiting," he presses but with tenderness in his voice. Bravery or stupidity?

Her hand falls and she leans against her pillows. She closes her eyes letting a few orphan tears escape.

"You're lucky, I'm too tired."

She feels the bed moving as he withdraws and he sits back on the chair.

"Soon, the Princess will bring you some warm food."

"Don't let her in."

She looks at him when there's no answer. His brows are knitted in confusion.

"Promise," she asks. "I don't want to see _them_."

"You have my word, milady."

A shiver runs down her spine as the name rolls off his tongue. It's not the first time he's called her that. She recalls their first encounter - that time he "saved" her life (again). She snapped in response, offended (taken off guard, embarrassed to have been powerless in the face of a pathetic flying simian). She doesn't seem to mind it so much, anymore.

Odd.

He stays for a while and keeps his promise not to let Snow in when she brings some potato soup. Granny's surely. She isn't a fan. He doesn't care. He's had practice convincing difficult toddlers to eat their brew, he sasses and she tries to hide the agonising pain this conversation brings her as memories of her own picky eater swirls in her brain.

She fails. He notices her jaw clenching, the water in her eyes she attempts to blink away, her difficulty to draw in that one breath and her hand automatically reaching to the part of her body that never stops aching.

"What was his name?" He asks. "I… I remember how you ran to protect Roland that day. You didn't even hesitate. Only a parent has that instinct."

She stares blankly at her bowl, drawing shapes in the yellow mush with her spoon.

She is a parent.

She was. Is. He's still her son - He is. He might be calling another woman "mom". He might be far away from her but she _is_ his mother. She raised him. She loved him. She cared for him, soothed every bruise and pain... He is her boy.

A drop of water falls into the soup. There still are tears left to shed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… "

She looks at him, her vision blurry but she holds onto the blue of his eyes that are slowly becoming more and more familiar. Comforting. (Odd).

"His name is Henry and he isn't dead, he's just lost to me forever."

If he's confused by her words, he doesn't show it. Instead, he nods with compassion.

"Yet, the grief is still the same," he acknowledges and she chuckles shallowly. It is indeed.

He leaves once she's done eating after she assures she will leave her heart in place. Maybe.

He says he'll be back in the morning. She replies that there's no need, that she can take care of herself. He agrees but insists that he wants to, that he enjoyed her company tonight.

Her heart flutters.

"I'll see you in the morning, milady."

He smiles and disappears behind the door. She stares at the wooden piece and smiles in the shadow in turn.

Odd.

…

He enjoys the rain.

She figures it out quite early on.

She often finds him crouching next to his son by one of the castle's windows, enthralled by drops the size of gold coins pelting down enthusiastically. Every once in a while father leans toward son and whispers into his hear amusing tales that makes his giggles bounce against the cold stone walls of the castle and the cold stone chamber of her heart, boring with warmth inside of it.

Enchanting melody.

She watches them. From afar, sitting at the edge of the dining table, Snow having worn her down with her insistence that she shouldn't be so isolated. They are "family after all". (She doesn't realise that the sadness and pain the Princess bears into her eyes ever since _that_ day is the reason Regina is so inclined to staying away. She just can't bear it. The disappointment… It's too much.) Or, on her walks, hidden behind a column, her heartbeat quickening when she recognises the now-familiar silhouettes.

One day, she finds son without father standing by the glass door leading to the courtyard where her apple tree takes roots, poising proud and majestic, still intact despite the years passing by. The only companion that never left her side. The sole witness of her deepest wounds, holder her most painful and joyous memories.

He wants to go out. Roland. Wants to run on the wet grass and draw his tongue out for the tasteless treat.

"Tempting, isn't it?"

He turns around, surprised and he lowers his head, scared of being in trouble.

"I used to run in the rain when I was a little girl," she says, sauntering towards the door and stopping at his level. That's not true. Cora wouldn't have allowed it.

She absently reaches for the top of her lip, souvenirs of broken glass and furious eyes replacing the image of the sweet boy.

She blinks. No. Not now.

She looks at Roland and gives him a small smile. He grins in turn, his cheeks dimpling. Beautiful.

"Does your father know you're here?"

"No," he replies and shakes his head. "We're playing catch the thief."

Of course.

She gives a low chuckle and looks at the window.

"Would you like to go outside for a bit?" She asks, tilting her head at him. "Quick before your father finds you?"

His eyes open, bright and beautiful; his smile wide and toothy.

Warmth. Here it is again.

She smiles before stretching a hand for him to take and they're out, walking on the courtyard towards the gardens. She closes her eyes, head tilted backwards. The drops aren't cold. On the contrary. They pleasantly caress her face, drip down her neckline… Time stills. Life stops.

Happiness.

She looks at Roland whose laughter is already melding with the sound of rain. She bends down and smirks playfully and he watches her with confusion. Without a word, she unties her boots and kicks them to the side.

He giggles and giggles, and leans against her, hand holding tight onto her arm as he does the same. The two, barefoot, run into the grass, the trees their only witness and she laughs, like she hasn't laughed in so long. She thinks of Henry, of cuddles and kisses and dancing in the backyard to a silent music… She smiles, cries, exults, breathes…

"Your Majesty?"

She stops spinning and turns to look at Roland.

"Yes?"

He isn't saying a word. Instead, he seems to be trying to hide behind her skirt, eyeing something behind her. She frowns before spinning on her heels and… Oh.

The father.

He's walking towards them, arms crossed over his chest. She can't see his face but she can't imagine him being too thrilled upon seeing the Evil Queen entertain his child.

Wrong.

He draws closer and all she sees is the smug smile on his face, nothing like the outraged and menacing glare she expected. Butterflies rise in her stomach and she lets out a breath she didn't realise she was holding.

"I see you're having quite the fun," he says, looking at Roland who's still hiding behind her before tipping his head and meeting her eyes.

He looks her up and down and she suddenly feels very aware of her physical aspect. Standing wet in the rain, barefoot, her gown surely ruined. She looks nothing like a Queen.

"Your Majesty."

She huffs at his tone. Full of teasing and triumph but she smiles. Is incapable of stopping, so she looks away, hoping that he will attribute the redness of her cheeks to the rain and nothing else.

"Mind if I join you?" He asks and it's Roland who answers with an enthusiastic "yes, Papa" before leaving her side to take his father's hand.

She prepares to leave. She doesn't want to intrude but his hand stretches just as she takes a step back. She stops. Her brain fills with confusion and her heart with long-forgotten emotions.

He smiles, encouragingly.

"Dance with us, your Majesty," Roland asks, happily, and how can she refuse?

She places her hand into his and lets him spin her around once, twice, three times… More fluttering of the heart.

...

He enjoys the rain. She likes that about him.

That and other things too.


	2. Shadow

_A/N: Based on the prompt "One of them is a ghost" and set during S7._

* * *

It's a shadow. It's been following her for as long as she can remember.

It's there, in the bar, as she serves the patrons. A glass of Jack Daniel's for Mr. Brown. A gin tonic for Rose. It's sat or standing, perhaps. On the counter. Behind her. She doesn't know but it's there, watching her.

She's not wary. It's not threatening. It's comforting.

She used to hate it. She thought she was going mad and perhaps she is. Perhaps all the whiskey she's absorbed finally drowned her brain.

Once, she lost it. She couldn't bear it anymore. Glass knocked over glass as she yelled for it to go away, to leave her be. That day, she collapsed on the ground, in tears, something she feels she used to do a lot of, once upon a time, yet without having any concrete recollection of it.

When she woke up the next day, it was gone.

Four days… a week… a month, coming home to an emptier apartment. To hollowness and loneliness. To fear.

She missed it.

And just like that, as the realisation hit her, the shadow came back.

It's a companion. Like an imaginary friend who appears to children when they feel lonely and sad. She hasn't been a child for a long time, but loneliness and sadness have been her companions for far too long, so she accepts its presence, smiles when a warm breeze caresses her cheek after another unwanted encounter with Belfrey.

Sometimes, when she closes her eyes, just before falling asleep, she can almost feel two arms wrapping around her. It's faint, feather-like, but the comfort in her chest is nothing but.

…

She notices it for the first time in the mirror.

She's tying her neck scarf. Pink and white skulls drawn on the black fabric. Perhaps, it's a bit much. She might be trying too hard, but ever since she woke up, it's been hard to get into Roni's shoes every day.

She has to. For Henry, so he's safe until she finds a solution.

She closes her eyes, her mind flashing back to her son lying on the ground, lifeless. She looks back into the mirror and at the sofa behind her.

"What do you think?" She asks, and she sees it.

First, it's the outline of a right hand, thumb up but it's on the inside of the wrist that her eyes focus on. There's a darker spot. It's blurry but she makes out the shield-like shape similar to those of a… coat of arms…

 _It's my family's crest._

 _The lion represents bravery, strength, wisdom. Family… I try to honour those words every day of my life._

Within seconds it's gone, and she blinks the image out of her mind.

She imagined it, she tells herself as she mixes vodka and dry vermouth for Mrs. Greene. Waking up brought back more than the terrible memories of what would happen to her son should the curse break. It brought back everything. Fear, anger, loss… so much loss.

Her mind must be playing tricks, piecing back together remnants of her memory...

Occasionally, she looks on her left where it stands. Tears that she wipes off discreetly sometimes escape despite her efforts.

She imagined it, she tells herself because him being here but not really is worse than his death.

It becomes harder to wonder.

She's more distant, less patient. Frustration grows sharp as she hits dead ends after dead ends when it comes to Henry.

It senses it. Warm breezes become more recurrent, its presence is more remarkable, over-bearing. It makes it worse, so she asks that it leaves and just like the first time, it does. And just like the first time, she's left alone.

…

She needs another sorcerer. Someone to help her. Someone to talk to or else she's going to go mad.

She can feel it. The Evil Queen inside her, trying to escape but she can't let it. Won't.

She needs help.

There's the option of waking Gold up but her former mentor always has an agenda and it never aligns with hers.

So, it only leaves one other person. She hates it, but she hasn't really got a choice.

She drags Henry along. He needs it and… it allows her to spend some time with him.

Zelena, or Kelly as her cursed-self goes by, is a spinning instructor. A very odd image to associate with the Wicked Witch's. She and Roni have been at odds for a long time which seems fitting considering what really happened between them.

Regina hasn't spoken to her sister ever since Zelena showed up in the Wish Realm with a grown-up Robyn and no warnings. It was hard. Facing her again. No matter how much she tried, she could never completely forgive Zelena and seeing Robyn who looked so much like her father just brought back all these unpleasant memories and it made it almost unbearable, so she did what she had done years earlier, she asked Zelena to leave her be and stay out of her life. Her sister didn't take it well. After everything that happened, she felt she deserved another chance. Regina of all people should understand. She does. Rationally, she knows it's not fair to hold her sister's past sins against her when she expects others not to do it to her, but the heartache is still so very present, suffocating sometimes and it's always triggered by Zelena's presence in her life.

Sometimes, it's not necessarily a bad thing to keep people away for a bit, just enough time to process our own demons, Archie had told her one particularly bad day following her reuniting with her other half.

She paused in front of the white building. She holds onto her chest. Just allow yourself to breathe.

"Hey, is everything okay?"

"I'm just a bit stressed. I haven't seen my… friend in a very long time."

"I'm sure it will be fine and I'm here for support."

He puts a hand on her arm and she has to fight back some stubborn tears. When did she stop being the one to soothe his worries away, she thinks for a second before realising that his sole presence was always all she needed to be soothed.

As expected, Kelly is less than thrilled to see Roni, but Regina manages to distract her enough to slip the memory potion in her whisky.

It takes some time to work but eventually Zelena's memories creep back.

It doesn't put an end to the shouting, however. It's only Regina's desperate "Henry's in danger" that brings back the long-lost silence. She collapses against a stool, tears gathering in her eyes looking up at Zelena with grief.

They talk about all that's happened. The Wish Realm, Hyperion Heights, San Francisco… They talk about Roni, Kelly, Henry, Robyn…

"I think I saw him."

"Who?" Zelena asks and perhaps it's the whisky or the desperate need to just talk about it to someone but Regina tells her everything.

The shadow, the presence, the warmth, the arms...

"I got used to it. I…"

She misses it.

"And you think it's Robin?"

"I know it's insane but when I saw the tattoo in the mirror…

I know it's not really him. I know he's gone but… for a second it felt like it could be."

"Is it here right now?"

Regina shakes her head.

"It went away." Zelena frowns. "I asked it to."

Zelena scoffs and Regina straightens up, defensive.

"What?! I'm just not surprised, that's all. You push people away, that's your thing."

"You can't possibly be comparing this to you," Regina lashes out.

"Whatever it is, it was trying to be there for you, with you and you tossed it to the side."

"I…"

Regina digs her teeth into her lower lip trying to keep the fire in. She feels the trapped magic boiling under skin, the evil begging to be released…

"This was a mistake," she says, and leaves.

…

The bourbon runs down her throat, burning its walls like a wild fire. Or maybe it's just her. She looks down at her hand, shaking, her veins popping out.

"I guess it didn't go well with your friend."

She jumps, her fist knocking the surface of the bar. She spins on her stool to see Henry, hands raised apologetically.

"Sorry. 'Didn't mean to scare you."

She relaxes, unclenching her fingers, her nails slowly pulling out of her skin. She rubs her hand on her jeans to get rid of the drops of blood as he sits next to her.

"How's Lucy?" She asks.

A smile instantly appears on Henry's face and Regina can't help but smile in turn, knowing exactly what her son must be feeling.

"She's fine, then. That's good," she says, resting a hand on her chest.

"Yes, she just… woke up. Just like that. I kissed her and… It was like magic."

Henry chuckles, shaking his head.

"Don't tell Lucy I said that."

Regina watches him, a tear rolling down her cheek.

"Hey Roni, are you okay?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm just glad that Lucy is alright and… to see you smile like that. It's nice."

"Yeah, it's a nice change from gloomy me, isn't it?" He laughs.

"I don't mind gloomy you, Henry," she tells him, reaching for his hand. "I like when you're happy, yes but you should never feel embarrassed about not being well. At least not with me."

"Thank you," he answers, squeezing her hand. "And that goes to you too, so you can tell me what happened after I left San Francisco."

Regina looks at him, tiredly, tears gathering in her eyes. She has no strength in her body anymore. She is tired of it all, the constant struggle, the constant worry, the fighting, the fear and anger so yes, she might not be thinking straight but all she wants right now is to hug her son and pretend for one second that everything is alright, as it used to be. So, she does that, wraps her arms tight around him, inhales his scent like it's the oxygen that keeps her alive.

Regina parts from him with teary eyes.

"Hey, it's going to be alright," he tells her, and she nods, smiling through the tears.

"Thank you for coming."

"I'm sorry I had to bail on you."

"No, Henry, don't apologise. Lucy needed you and I'm a big girl. I'll be fine. I just need a good night sleep that's all."

"You're sure?"

"I am, and you should go. The bar closed hours ago, young man," she says with a smirk.

He nods and smiles.

"Alright," he caves in. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yes," she nods, and he leaves.

She goes upstairs not long after he's gone.

Her apartment is pitch black, but she isn't sure she can face any form of light as of now. The ones from the street are nuisance enough.

She blindly takes her boots off and hangs her jacket onto the rack. She goes into the living room and falls on her couch, almost missing it and falling on her ass.

She sighs, tucking her feet under her thighs. She leans against the back of the couch.

"Come back, please," she whispers into the silence.

A cold breeze passes through the living room enveloping her and then, warmth.

She closes her eyes and lays down on her side, bringing a cushion down to rest her head.

"I've missed you.

I…

I miss you."

…

Zelena shows up at the bar one day with Robyn in toe and surprise doesn't even begin to cover what she feels.

"You asked for my help and I intend on giving it to you."

If she wasn't so desperate, she would choose stubbornness but instead she accepts the much-needed assistance.

The young girl hugs her aunt tight, telling her how much she's missed her. Margot and Roni have always been closer than Robyn and Regina. A cruel twist which was probably the intent all along. It's one thing to shield from someone because they bring back painful memories, it's another to be just as painfully aware of how good things might have been had a cliff not been dug to keep them away.

They exchange pleasantries and Regina tries not to be distant, tries not to be too acutely aware of the resemblance between her niece and Robin. It's her eyes probably. The deep, piercing blue eyes imbued with kindness and strength with a hint of wilfulness…

A warmth draft caresses her back and she closes her eyes briefly, keeping the tears from falling.

Margot leaves to go explore the city. Just like Robyn, she loves finding new adventures to be led onto.

Regina watches her disappear in the street unable not to smile. She feels it scooting next to her, watching the young girl too, probably, smiling as well, perhaps… surely.

"It's back, isn't it?"

She looks up at Zelena and nods. She turns and grabs two glasses and a bottle of MacCutcheon.

"Where shall we begin?" Zelena says as Regina walks back to her and puts the glasses down on the counter.

"How do you feel about cutting a witch?"

Zelena's mouth twists into a small rictus and she raises a now-full glass and clink it against Regina's.

"I thought you'd never ask."

…

It's when you lose someone that you realise how precious they are to you. Or so they say. It's never been the case for her. She always knows, always cares too deeply, loves so much it's easy to pretend it's hatred.

She hated him the first time she met him. She hated his arrogance, his smug smile, the way he seemed to read her so easily.

Vulnerability isn't an emotion that is becoming of her, quite the opposite but then… Then, it became less annoying, more comforting. The look in his eyes when she would tell him about her son, when he would talk about his son. The cheeky smiles and the witty banter he kept in store just for her. She fell for him, fell hard and proper.

She didn't need him dead to realise just how much he meant to her. She knew it all along from the second she met him. Hatred or love, he was the one.

The witch is dead. Henry's memory has returned. Her boy is happy. The city is vibrant and the laughter loud. The curse has broken but her heart is still very much so as well.

A shiver runs down her spine and something tickles her hand. She closes her eyes and a tear escapes, dropping into her drink.

Someday it will stop hurting. It has to.

…

Queen of all realms.

A flaunting title she never thought of holding, never imagined she could ever be becoming of. She never wanting to be Queen. She spat those words in despair so often they clung to her skin like the firethorn creeping to one's limbs. But today, as Snow White places the crown atop her head, as the once heavy jewel lays on her head like a feather, as the loud clapping bounce against the chapel's walls, as she looks at the crowd cheering and her family smiling, as the familiar breeze caresses her face… It feels right. She is the Queen.

Tears prick her eyes as she distinguishes all the faces, every person she once considered enemies gathered in her name…

And he is here too. Of course, he is but what startles her is that he is no longer just a presence, just a faint caress on her back, just a floating limb in the air. She can see him so perfectly clearly, standing there, amidst her family. Roland is by his left side. A handsome young man he's become, as kind and witty as his father. Robyn, by the right one. A brave one with her father's determination in the eyes. They're looking at her, joy and pride exuding from their smiles. They don't know he's here, but he is. Tearing his gaze away from her every so often to glance at his children. His beautiful children.

She closes her eyes, bringing a hand to her heart. It can't be. It can't possibly be. It must be a dream. It is.

A futile dream.

…

They're all gone. She's asked to be left alone, to take in all that's happened before she joins them in the Great Hall for the festivities.

 _He_ isn't gone.

"Milady."

It sounds unreal yet so very clearly real. The tone of his voice, the way the word, the oh-so-familiar moniker rolls on his tongue and reach her ears like a caress.

She doesn't dare opening her eyes, doesn't dare move a finger afraid to break the spell, afraid to pop the bubble. It's not real, she knows it, yet she hopes. She hopes that he will be standing before her, smiling, breathing, alive but dead is dead. She's learned. She knows. It's just a dream. A figment of her troubled mind that desperately, desperately wants to hold him again. Just one last time.

"Regina, open your eyes, my love."

"I can't," she whispers, her voice trembling.

"It's alright," he says. "It's alright."

The light is harsh. Her eyes are burning. He's standing there. Before her, with tears of his own caressing the floor. She reaches for him, desperate to feel his skin against her…

Air.

His hand vanishes into thin air as she touches it and she falls onto the ground.

What a cruel trick it is. What a vile punishment, a stab through the heart.

"Don't," she begs, hands flat against the cold floor.

"It's alright, my love. I promise. I'm alright."

"No, you're not. You're still gone. You're still…" _Dead_.

He sits next to her, quietly, silently. God what wouldn't she give for him to make a sound. The rustle of his clothes, the small hmpf when he meets the ground or the comforting lub-dub of his heart. But there's nothing, just her own damn heart pounding against her chest when it should have been her in the grave.

"Don't say that," he says, breaking the maddening silence.

She dares looking up at him and he gives her a smile.

"It appears you found a few believers."

She closes her eyes back briefly, remembering the first time he told her those words.

"I'm proud of you. You showed them that they could trust you and they do."

"I… I'm glad you were here. I – I'm glad you're here."

"I'll never be far," he whispers, bringing his face close to her and she can almost feel his breath caressing her lips. _Almost._

"You're leaving me, aren't you?"

"I have to. I've been here for longer than allowed and I can feel it pulling me back."

"It?" She asks, raising a brow.

He smirks, shaking his head. "In due time, milady. In due time."

She rolls her eyes, shrugging and he laughs.

A small smile tucks the corner of her lips as she watches him do so.

 _When one misses someone, it's not just their presence that is crave, it's every single aspect of their being, every single personality trait, their odour or their voice. Their laugh. Their laugh would resonate for days, months, weeks after their gone until one day it stops singing._

"I'd forgotten."

"What?"

"What your laugh sounded like," she says, her voice cracking under the weight of the confession, despite the smile still pinned to her lips. "I don't want you to go. I don't want to forget it again… I'm scared…"

A feels a sudden warmth against her cheek, his hand having risen to her face, hovering on its side.

"I'll miss you so much," she whispers.

"And I you. More than words could ever tell."

She looks at him, tries to memorise every feature of his face, every crease, every twitch, every shade and strand of hair…

"I'll be waiting for you Milady," he says, happily "but please, do take you time. They still need you down here."

" _I_ need you."

"And I'm here."

And gently, his hand goes from her cheek to her chest.

"Always."

And just like that night in her office, the last thing she sees is his smile, his beautiful dimpled smile carved in her mind forever.

"Til' we meet again, _thief_."


	3. Medusa

A/N: Regina was banned and cursed as Medusa after the events of "The cricket game" flashbacks. Dimples Queen.

* * *

 _Medus-ssa_.

Voices in her head. Her only companions for years she has long since stopped counting.

The beasts caress her skin, cold like death, their tongues hissing in her ears silent torments. She has been wandering in those walls for decades, her numbed feet grazing the cold stone aimlessly. Eyes, translucent like water, accustomed to the cruelty of the night. Skin as pale as the moon. A ghost. A monster feared by all, sentenced to solitude for all eternity.

 _Medus-ssa._

A name that shouldn't be hers to carry. A curse, a treason and shameful punishment for sins justified.

A sound that belongs in the night, scaring children away. Little creatures running to hide under their mother's skirt at the mere mention of the damned name.

A beast, blind in the light, blind in the dark, luring preys in her lair, peasants seeking vengeance, thirsting for blood, deeming her turmoil not suffering enough. One glare and time stops, imprisoned in a stoned prison colder than her own. A sweet delicacy. The only one thrust upon her.

 _Medus-_.

The heads snap up. Her spine straightens.

Another soul to break, another enchanting cry to caress her ears… It's been long since she's heard songs other than her own.

The beasts glide on her shoulders and arms, tongues salivating for another feast, eyes shining in the dark.

She smirks. She learnt to enjoy it as much as they do.

She hides against the stone, surrounded by her previous preys. The egotists fallen to their knees condemned to share their final resting place with the monster they so loathe.

It's close. She feels it in her skin.

"Hello?"

The voice takes her off guard. They don't usually make their presence known. The fools usually think they can sneak up on her never mind that she can smell their stench from miles away.

"Hello?"

The voice is trembles, the word barely escaping the lips of its carrier. It's…

A child.

Her back knocks against the wall, her numb heart fliting for the first time since – since she was a child herself, before all the horror. A child turned woman turned monster.

The hellos stop but the sniffing doesn't.

"W- Who goes there?"

There's no answer but she hears the child move. She stops him with a raise of her voice and a sharp "no".

"Stay where you are."

"I'm lost," the voice replies.

"To whom?"

"My Papa."

She freezes. A trap?

 _Yes-ss._

Sssh.

"Where did you get lost?"

"The bridge. I'm not allowed to cross it, but I was following a butterfly…"

The voice breaks and the cries start anew.

"Silence!"

Shocking sounds, quiet sniffings and silence.

"C- close your eyes."

She peeks from her hiding spot and lifts the hood of her black dress to cover the beasts.

 _Medus-ssa!_

They protest, the hissing intensifying in her head.

"Are they closed?"

"Yes."

"If you're lying, you will die."

Silence.

"I'm not lying."

She chooses to believe him. Either way, it wouldn't change much for her.

She finds him in no time. He smells of moss and flowers, of rain and burnt wood and sweat. She scrunches her nose. Displeasing.

"Hold my hand."

He shivers when her skin touches his. Cold. She forgets sometimes.

"I'll bring you to the bridge but you'll have to find your way home from there."

"Yes."

She knows the bridge he spoke of. The one linking the Enchanted Forest to Sherwood's.

She's been on this road sometimes. In the dark of the night, once all souls are asleep and hers can rove in peace. She's stood atop the hill wondering how much he would take for her to reach the Dark Palace, her stolen home, and how she longs to turn all its illegitimate inhabitants into stone. Futile dreams. She's one. They're thousands out for her head. Perhaps they would use it as a mean for war, hang on a spear, dead but alive.

 _Medus-ssa_.

"Shh!" She snaps, stopping in her tracks.

"I didn't talk."

She tilts her head to the boy.

"Never said you did," she deadpans, resuming her walk.

"Who are you talking to?"

"The voices in my head."

The walk isn't long per se, but he talks much and loudly. She doesn't mind. It's a nice melody, a new tune not unpleasant to the ears. She wonders if she should keep it, wonders if it'd stop working if she did. Probably.

They're not too far. She recognizes the smell of the bluebells and wood anemone that never grows on the rotten lands of her lair. The spring wind is now caressing her face instead of pushing her forward. They've reached north.

"Do you know how to count to ten?" She asks the boy and he stops whatever tale he's been telling her about.

"Yes, I do," he says, and she feels his body straighten.

Pride.

She chuckles, and she freezes with surprise. She didn't know she could still produce such an innocent sound. A wet bead glides against her cheek.

"We have arrived, the bridge isn't far. Count to ten and then, and only then you can open your eyes. Do you understand me?"

"You will be gone when I open my eyes?"

She hears sadness in his voice… For her? Does he fear he will miss her? Oh, foolish boy. Most would sacrifice fortunes for her to draw her last breath.

"Yes, I will."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You may."

"Are you the lady with snakes in her hair?"

 _Sssss-_

"Would that scare you?"

"Uncle John says she's a monster."

"Uncle John is a wise man."

"Papa doesn't agree."

She frowns and tilts her head in surprise.

"He doesn't?"

"Nah. He says that you did bad things and that's why you were punished to have snakes in your hair. But he says that everyone deserves a second chance. He did bad things too, you know? When my mama died. Because he was sad. Are you sad? Is that why you did the bad things?"

"I… You should listen to your uncle."

"I know. Papa says so too. Even if he doesn't agree, he doesn't want to take his chances, not with me. I'm his precious boy."

She can hear the smile in his voice and she can't help but smile too through the now pouring tears. Her heart is beating fast, like that of an unborn child. It hasn't been touched by words so kind in so long they burn through the flesh.

"You're going to have to start counting."

"Wait, what's your name?"

She lets his hand fall from hers.

"Medus- Regina," she says before turning and disappearing through the thick woods.


	4. Water

A/N: Modern World AU loosely based on the movie "Sleeping with the enemy".

TW: Mention of non-con

* * *

It's beautiful, really. More so than anything she's ever seen in her life.

The moon is up and high, its reflection rocked by the restful waves. Scarred like her, yet it enthrals with beauty and mystery.

She glances at the dinner table and the empty bottles of scotch, their liquid now residing in her husband stomach and assuring his liver's soon demise. _Not soon enough._

One is broken, pieces of its glass stained with blood. The rest, scattered on the floor.

"Mommy?"

It's Henry, cradled on her back, eyes still tightly shut like she asked him to.

"It's fine, baby," she whispers.

The blood she carefully splattered all over the table and floor of boat will soon be drying up. Time is running out.

The cold wind blows on their faces and Henry tightens his grip around her. "I promise. Just keep your eyes and your mouth shut for mommy, okay?"

His head rubs against her shoulder and she hopes that she isn't making a mistake.

She looks ahead at the blurry lines offshore, at the unknown place she hopes she'll soon find shelter in. A place where the shouting will cease, where the marks inelegantly dressing her body will vanish and the soreness in her heart will heal. A place where she won't have to hurriedly lock her son in his room before her husband, pissed again, would press her against the closest hard surface and pull his pants down to his ankles not caring that she's still recovering from the last time he's forced himself inside her.

It seems utopic. Unfulfilling - but she has to try if not for herself but for the six year old child whose life is worth fighting every single one of her fears for. For the day she saw the look of horror in his eyes just before the callous hand slammed hard on his cheek, she swore it would be the first and last time.

Her feet fidget at the edge of the deck. Around the railing, her fingers loosen hesitantly.

Time is up.

She jumps.

…

What she feels next is the burning cold clawing to her skin like a cat on a rug.

It's excruciating but she can take it. She's had to endure worse sufferings. She fights through the pain, fights through the numbness threatening to overtake every single muscle of her limbs. She learnt, just for this day, she learnt, went to classes week after week for months on until she was sure, certain she could do it. For her son. For her. For the life she owes him.

"You're okay, baby?"

"I'm a bit cold," he quivers.

She wrapped him in her sweaters. Two of them and Daniel's big brown jacket, the one she managed to convince her husband belonged to her father just so he would allow her to keep it. He's got on tights and three pairs of socks and the brown boots he loves so much and that are a bit too big but thick enough for him to play in the snow with and she convinces herself that it will be enough.

"Hang in there. Mommy's got you," she promises through chattering teeth and how dare she? How dare she make promises when the line offshore becomes blurrier and the weight of him on her back heavier?

For how long have they even been in the water? Did they even managed to put some distance between them and the boat?

She doesn't dare check, cannot bring herself to look back.

Tears gather in her eyes as it becomes more and more difficult to keep the water from slipping inside her mouth.

Please God.

She begs a god she hasn't begged since that time her mother almost left her to drawn just to teach her a lesson. A god, a long life of fear, loss and despair has made her stop believing in. She knows it's in vain. He never listened before. Why would he now?

Religion was her father's thing but her father is dead just like most people she's ever cared for. She has Henry now, just him and she loves him too much to trust God not to take him away from her. It doesn't matter how many times she's wondered if he'd be better off without her. But now, as she feels herself being dragged into the abyss, she prays and hopes that whatever God might rest up there will, for once, hear her lamentation.

She turns around and props Henry up on her chest, his back facing her and she lays on the water hoping that the waves will bring them to that place she so longs for.

…

There's comfort in warmth. She's always found it so and as she finds herself slowly drifting into nothingness, the harsh cold is no more and the arms of the sea envelop her into a pleasant cocoon. She smiles. Holds Henry tight against her and smiles.

She wonders if they'll see Daniel. She hopes so.

She closes her eyes and hopes to find peace. At last.

Suddenly she feels something grabbing her. She looks up and see someone swimming next to her. She tries to make out who it is, panics at the thought that it might be Leopold having come after them. His mouth is moving but she can't hear him. The last thing she sees as her lids close, tired, are his eyes. Blue.

 _Daniel?_

…

She wakes up in a jolt.

The sun is up high and aggressive, forcing her to shut her eyes. She's is lying down on a couch or a bed and the comfort of it almost make her relax. Perhaps, she's dead. Perhaps it's over, she tells herself but then as those thoughts settle soothingly in her brain, another one appear and she is up on her feet within seconds. Henry.

She doesn't go far though. Doesn't even move an inch. Her limbs are so sore. They're numb and her head feels terribly heavy as if a rock had been placed in there.

It doesn't take long for gravity to do its job. She collapses.

…

The next time her eyes open, the light isn't so harsh anymore and there's a small bundle pressed against her.

Tears gather in her eyes at the sight of her son, breathing and well. He is sleeping soundly, probably wandering one of the fantasy worlds inhabiting in his brain. She presses a kiss on his forehead and whispers a relieved "I love you".

She's more prudent when she stands this time not wanting to wake him up or to meet the floor again. She's had a lifetime of that - she won't take anymore.

Outside, the night has fallen hence the gentleness of the light. The moon has always been kinder to her than the sun. The night falling was always synonym of peace and quiet and the beautiful white lady up in the sky, always a faithful confident.

Curiosity makes her want to explore some more but she doesn't want to leave Henry alone. She knows they aren't back on Leopold's boat, the raft is exactly that; simple and straightforward, no unnecessary extravaganza to make up for other personality defects, but she knows better that to let her guard down.

So, she sits back down. She carefully puts Henry's head in her lap and strokes his face, pushing the growing hair strands away. She notices it then, a glass of water on the small table by the bed and a note taped to it.

"Wouldn't want to deter you from your saline based diet but should you give this alien beverage a try, I promise you won't regret it."

Her teeth clamped around her lips and she fights back a smile. She places the paper down and brings the glass to her mouth. She hadn't realised just how thirsty she was until the almost unfamiliar liquid glided inside her throat, taming every inch as it went.

She hopes to stay awake, figures she's done enough sleeping already but her body has never really been the obedient type. She finds herself settling in the bed more comfortably, a warmth in her chest and a small voice, a voice she hasn't heard in a long time, telling her that everything is going to be fine.

Within a few minutes, she falls like a dead weight.

…

She finds him in the break of dawn, a cup in hand, sat on the rim of his boat.

He's handsome. That's the first thing she notices. Messy blonde hair with grey strands, a beard that hasn't seen the blade of a razor in a long time. He's got this rugged look that is weirdly attractive.

He isn't Daniel. That's the second thing she notices.

She is not sure how to approach him, isn't sure if she should trust this stranger but there's something oddly familiar and comforting about him, something that makes her feel safe, safer than she's felt in years.

"Oh, you're up?" He beats her to it, facing her.

British.

He's smiling, two beautiful dimples flanking each sides of it. Yes, he's handsome.

"How are you feeling," he asks, setting his cup down and getting to his feet.

He's walking towards her and she finds herself backing away instinctively. He stops but the dimples never falter.

She crosses her arms under her chest and wets her lips. She looks around, taking in her surroundings.

"Where are we?" She asks.

"Coast of LA."

She freezes, her heart stopping. Too close.

"I need… I need to go," she says more to herself and she pivots, heading back to the cabin to go get Henry.

"Don't," he asks. "We're heading north. It'd be easier on a boat than in the water."

She turns to look at him.

"Please," he continues. "I can't force you but whatever it is you're trying to… you want to leave behind isn't worth your life. I can help you. No questions asked."

"You don't even know me."

"No mother would jump in a 60° water with their child unless they had a good reason to do so. That's enough for me."

"You don't even want my name?"

"Unless you want to give it to me, no. Mine's Robin though," he informs. "Can I make you a cup?" He asks, pointing at his own cup.

She nods. He smiles.

…

Robin has a son. Roland. He is two years younger than Henry. He's got his father's dimples and charms and in the span of just a few hours he's become the closest friend Henry's ever had.

It's hard to form relationships when life at home is so fucked up. She closes her eyes, guilt rising in her chest.

The boys are running around on the boat and Regina tries not to worry that they might fall. Roland knows how to swim, he's told her so with pride. Henry doesn't. She let her fears keep her from ever enrolling him into a class when he asked to.

More guilt.

"I could teach him."

She jumps as Robin sneaks up next to her. She declines the beer he offers her. He nods and puts it down.

"To swim. If you'd like, I could teach him. We still have a long way up to Seattle and I'm a very good teacher."

"I…"

He brings his beer to his lips and she shivers. Images of glass bottles crashing against the wall, only a few inches from her face flash up before her eyes.

"Can you -"

"Huh?"

"I don't like it when… I…"

He glances down at the bottle.

"Oh." He smiles and puts it down. "I won't drink it."

"I'm sorry," she says.

"It's alright. I don't mind," he assures.

"Thank you."

She looks back at the children. They are now playing some kind of hopscotch. She smiles at the sight.

"I think he'd really like that."

She glances back at Robin and he nods. "Great."

From that point on, every time they stop in a harbour to buy fuel or refill their stock, Robin takes the opportunity to teach Henry how to swim in the quieter and warmer waters. At first, she was nervous, standing, hands grasping at the railing so hard, her knuckles would turn white. Now, she worries less- she trusts that Henry is in good hands and she hasn't heard her son laugh like this in so long she had almost forgotten the delicate melody it carried.

It's been a week and she hasn't heard from Leopold from exactly that long.

What a peaceful sound, silence is.

…

It's become comfortable as if they had always belonged here on this boat with these people.

Every time she looks in his eyes or she catches one of Roland's attack-hugs, she feels more at home than she's ever felt in most of her life.

She traded one toxic house with Cora to another with Leopold. In between, there was that one blissful year with Daniel but quickly, even that one turned into a nightmare.

The memories still haunt her sometimes. In the dead of the night with Henry cradled against her and the faint glimmer of the moon for only light. Every sound and shape, mysterious and alien is source of cold sweat and quiet whimpers of dread.

…

Robin is a widow.

Marian was her name. She was a one of a kind woman if the tales Robin told her are of any indication. The way his eyes lit up when he speaks of her, another evidence.

She doesn't tell him about Daniel but her quiet "I know" when he admits to missing her is enough for him to know.

He knows a lot. He knows more than she's ever said aloud. She isn't sure how but she seems to be an opened book to him. She's never been transparent to anyone, not that anyone's ever looked at her long enough to try to read her. Oh yes, Daniel did… but Daniel died.

Robin is alive and when he looks at her with his piercing blue eyes and beautiful dimpled smile, she feels alive too. Heart pumping, veins throbbing, flesh heating-ly alive.

 _Oh damn_.

…

"Do you know why I love the sea so much?"

"Why?"

"It's unpredictable. It doesn't let itself be tamed by no one. Whether we're in it or on it, it's because it allows it. The sea is strong and fearful but quiet and smart. It doesn't bite, it prowls.

… It reminds me of you."

"You're mistaken."

"I don't think I am."

"Every inch of my body is beaten," she deadpans before she can stop herself.

She closes her eyes.

"Yet, you still stands."

She looks at him, and sees him admiring the city ashore.

"When a wave hits the sand, it doesn't die. No, it retreats and comes back stronger. You're stronger than you were yesterday or the day before. You're here with your son with nothing but your will. What happened to you won't anymore because you were strong enough to say 'no more'. You're the sea."

He turns back to face her and she doesn't move when his hand reaches her face and he wipes the tears with his thumb. She doesn't move either when he slowly leans in and presses a kiss on her cheek.

She closes her eyes, scared that the peace and comfort she feels in her heart will vanish if she doesn't.

Eventually, she opens them back and he smiles at her before retreating back inside.

"You said you love the sea," she notices.

But he keeps on walking and she realises that the words were never spoken aloud. Yet, he pauses at the door and spins on his heels. His eyes bore into hers and he smiles.

Once again, she didn't need to utter a word for him to know.

"Yes, I truly do love the sea."


End file.
